


royal milk kisses

by shslduelist (joeri)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Neck Kissing, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 13:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18605788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joeri/pseuds/shslduelist
Summary: ryoken is loved. he doesn't know quite how much or how long he will last.





	royal milk kisses

Yusaku holds Ryoken about the waist, leaving wet imprints of his lips all over his neck that Ryoken feels sinking into his very soul. They mark him loved though he’s unsure of how far it goes. The hands that hold him close and tender can only do so for so long. It’d be a crime to keep them all for himself but he’d already branded himself a terrorist ten times over. What was one more life sentence?

Ryoken doesn’t want Yusaku to go, doesn’t want him to leave and doesn’t want to think about the fact that he’s gaining new friends and a life of his own while Ryoken’s stagnates and rots at the branches. He tries to prune the past away before realizing the path his father carved was really all he had.

It hurts in a way that nips at the collar can’t heal. It burrows deep in Ryoken’s rib cage like a rabid beast trying to dig its way out of a fenced in enclosure by hollowing out the ground beneath and traveling underneath it. It makes him tremble weakly, though he swallows with faintly a sign of submission clear across his features. It’s benign, really, these paranoias. They fade with time, they always do, and Yusaku is with him now: kissing his nape.

Kindly, with the sort of care you give when handling freshly washed fruit, holding a baby, adjusting a photo on the wall or tenderly straightening up a tie on your best friend’s wedding day, Yusaku finds a way to peck the central tender spot hidden by white hair where his spine connects with his skull, eliciting a greater sense of sudden pleasure than pure fentanyl to the brain.

He says, “what are you thinking about?” and Ryoken can’t answer. The words just won’t come through and he doesn’t want them to. What could he say? What could anyone in the face of such adoration, with such fear in their heart?

Unfair of him to feel fright, when his lover goes to such limits. There’s a lilt in Yusaku’s voice that reminds Ryoken of a song and he can’t remember the name. It scares him, how things once so dear and important could _become_ forgotten, could become estranged and familiar in sound not in name. It spooks him rightly, when Yusaku says, “I know I asked you, but I’m thinking about royal milk tea.”

Ryoken settles against him, unaware until then how stiff he’d become and it rushes into him that Yusaku’s noticed all along. “You’ve always been a coffee person. Have I made you a convert?”

Something cousin to reverence colors the sway in Yusaku’s speech when he says, “I think so. I like that I’m starting to like the things that you like,” and something about that feels permanent and final in a way a lot of things are not.

Should the world collapse and Yusaku find shelter in someone else’s arms, under the shade of a better tree, with the love of a finer man, that taste for something new, something of _his_ will always stay. It means Ryoken will last, will have a legacy, will have something always leaking at the back of Yusaku’s mind reminding him of his lips, and royal milk kisses.

“What else?” Ryoken asks ordinarily, not eager at all to know more and Yusaku nuzzles his skin until the gooseflesh pinches up against him.

The warmth drops into Ryoken’s stomach and he suppresses a sound.

“White cheddar flavoring.”

That rattles the anxiety, yanks a snort out of Ryoken. Of all the things.

“ _And_ , and—” Yusaku rushes out, rocking the two of them in a sea sickeningly swish from side to side, “Arctic Monkeys.”

Rolling his eyes, Ryoken rests his fingers down upon Yusaku’s arms and almost faints at the realization that his muscles are quite taut, squeezing him tight around his body without the intent of letting go. Ryoken shuts his eyes close and allows his head to loll sideways and Yusaku bats no eyes, kissing all up and down the pale expanse with a feverish need to see him loved. It’s homespun and nothing decorated. It isn’t bought with diamonds and pearls. Yusaku has nothing for him but his mouth and his hands and that is all he can count on.

His body broils beneath his skin, beneath his frigid shell. He tries not to glide his body into Yusaku’s roaming touch but he’s aching silently for reassurance, for all the things that make him believe he’s got a spirit in there somewhere.

_I am not a good person._

Yusaku sounds like a foolish choir at his ear: “I love you, and everything about you, and everything you could be, and everything you are, and everything you love, and everything inside you.”

And Ryoken shivers back every word, every word, every word.


End file.
